Eat, Pray, Love, and Go

The irony is, I don't like the book 'Eat, Pray, Love'. The movie was a massive success, but as a former English student I have the bad habit of reading a book before watching a movie and then deciding whether I watch the movie based on my opinion of the book. I found 'Eat, Pray, Love' the book to be devoid of any substantial plot, too slow to keep interest, and thought it was more a one woman 'look at meeeee' party. Therefore I avoided the movie like the plague. Until, that is, I recorded it on the sky box, and decided  to give it a chance over a coffee breakfast the other morning. I have watched it three times this week.

You see, there comes a point when you arrive home after travelling that you feel like you are content to sit in your own country for a while and live a normal life and hold down a normal job. Some people become content with doing that and find they do it for the rest of their lives with 2 . 5 kids and a dog named Tom. 2.5 kids and a dog named Tom don't fit well into Ryanair cabin baggage allowance, so travelling becomes a yearly or so trip to a beach with a built in Irish bar. That's fine for the person that wants that, but it dawned on me as I watched Julia eat her spaghetti that I was 22 and didn't have 2 . 5 kids and a dog named Tom, and I wanted to eat spaghetti and see Rome. Suddenly, without much warning, the travelling bug was back full force! I tried to calm it down by saying 'no, you are saving money! You are living a normal life! You are not heading off again! You need to stay where you are!'

I consulted a usually understanding friend; former Thai teacher now KFC chip shaker James, who also expressed the feeling of an ever growing travel bug. Suddenly, it was 1am and we had the prices of flights, accommodation, trains, and could already taste the pizza. As James said at one point, 'Why not?'

So, its done. I am taking my week's holiday from work, and on the 16th of October I am getting a Ryanair flight to Venice (dirt cheap so it was. It was half the price of the return train from Kildare to Killarney. Dangerous prices!). I stay in Venice for two or three nights, then take a train to Florence and stay there for a night, then off to beautiful Roma, where I finally get to stand in front of that Colosseum. After three or four nights of my dream destination, I fly home.

After booking the flights yesterday morning and jumping around my kitchen like a Duracell bunny, much to the dismay of my dog, I realised that when Rome is gone off my bucket list, I have only one dream city left; New York. I thought 'only one dream city left. Aim of the day, find a new dream city!'. 'Cause that's the whole point right? Complete monotonous normality doesn't suit humans. Human life always needs a dream to work towards, no matter what that dream is. Thing is, you have to take the chance of living the dream when it comes around, otherwise, whats the point in dreaming?

To Italy we go!

Slán.

1,2, Cha Cha Hop .... 3,4 Cha Cha Drop

Peer pressure is an awful thing. It happens in numerous situations in adult life. You think it ends in the playground with 'I dare you to kiss Johnny and get cooties', which you go ahead and do and remain scared shitless of the killer cooties for days to come. But it follows you into adult life with more painful consequences. It's the 'another drink?', or 'want to share desert?', or 'ah the plane doesn't go that high, just jump'. I had this high and mighty idea of myself that I had gone beyond all that rubbish. Oh silly silly Amy.

I said in a previous blog, the one before I found myself screaming like a raving lunatic at my broken down car, that I was turning my life around one local activity at a time. So I tottered off to my local GAA hall to partake in a Zumba class. As a kid I filled most of my spare time prancing around dance studios and local halls, and I have done every form of dance I could get into. I was told that Zumba was the perfect way to keep fit and meet new people. Dance and a natter; I figured it sounded pretty perfect. I went in expecting to find it really easy as I am soooo fit with my size 8 jeans, and it would all be nothing more than some sexy shaking of the hips to latin music and a nice little step around. Boy was I wrong!

When I arrived in I was asked to fill out a form and on the form I was asked 'What is your reason for joining Zumba?', I said to meet new friends, and the guy on the desk looked at me up and down, laughed, and said jokingly 'well it isnt to lose weight'. I thought this a little strange, but as I am a pretty small person, I took no notice. I went into the class, and after 5 minutes I understood why he said that. The word 'calm' does not belong here, nor the word 'sexy', or 'step'. The words I would use are 'intense', 'sweaty', 'hot', and 'challenging'. After 5 minutes of dancing I was a puffing, knackered mess. I was slowly coming to learn that size 8 jeams mean nothing, and I was in fact incredibly unfit. In the few seconds of recovery I had between songs, one of the girls stopped beside me, and I looked at her and said 'tough isnt it?'. She said 'ah ye it is I suppose, but it should be easy enough for a skinny thing like you'. 

There is was. The peer pressure you think when you leave school that you leave behind. I looked around and realised that all of these women, most of whom were older than me and, honestly, bigger than me, were running rings around me. I realised that I had to put my all into this if I was going to come out even close to their stamina. Some of these women were on their second hour of Zumba, and I was struggling with the first 15 minutes. These women are fit, much fitter than me, and as small as I am, the only exercise I had been getting for the past three years was the running totter in heels across the road on a Saturday night. Well by God I threw myself around that hall. I whooped whooped with everyone while jumping and spinning and speed cha cha chaing, and I came out looking far from the sexy I was expecting. The next day, as much as I didnt admit it then, I was in massive amounts of pain. I hadn't felt pain like that since I thought I could handle 45 minutes running on a tread mill with a hangover 2 years ago in college (it was my first time inside a gym. Not a good idea)

Yet, despite the initial shock to the system and the pain every time I climbed a flight of stairs for the rest of the week, I went back. I felt amazing after the second week, and even better this week. The girls there are friendly and we all push through together. I am feeling it getting easier every week as my fitness gets better, and I talk to more new people every week. I guess this time around a bit of peer pressure was what I needed to get the heart going. 

Slán.

If It's Too Good To Be True, Then Logically ......

You know the saying 'if it's too good to be true, it usually is'. Why don't we humans take note of such sayings? We would save ourselves a lot of hassle.

I had my beautiful little Micra stolen from me about two months ago. A nightmare. But out of that nightmare came what I thought was a little ray of pretty blue sunshine in the form of a lovely 2003 Fiat Punto for an incredibly good price. It had recently passed its NCT, had tax, and seemed, as I said above, too good to be true for the price. I am a sucker for a bargain, to my own detriment. I had a few problems with the power steering pump a few weeks after buying it, which I had replaced and 'fixed'. Problem solved, right? Wrong!

Last night I donned the loose clothing and headed off excitedly to my first yoga class. It was a little drive away as it is in the town that I work in rather than live in for convenience sake, due to me being there more than I am home. I stopped off at a post office in a little town along the way, and hopped back into the car full of thoughts of the impending action of standing on my head and my attempts at describing that in this blog, when 'too good to be true' decided to hit me really hard. I put the car into reverse, locked hard on the wheel to turn out, and 'PHEW', something in the wheel blew. Suddenly the wheel went so heavy I could hardly move it an inch, the red wheel light on the dash came on, and any chance of me getting out of the spot let alone to yoga class went out the window.

The high capped boy racers in their zooped up bangers next to me must have thought I was insane as they watched me hit the wheel numerous times with quite substantial force while screaming 'FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK' at the top of my lungs. I then turned to them when I noticed them staring at me and shouted 'WHAT???'. They knew to back off. This was a woman highly scorned.

Numerous calls to the mechanic and a neighbour from heaven later I now find myself at home, 6 miles from the nearest shop, with (most disastrously and to the shock of my boss) no way of getting to work until the 'Rents come home from their elongated siesta in the Puerto Rican sunshine on Friday, unless the mechanic can save the day. But not to fear on the company side! I have two dogs, two cats, 8 hens, 6 chicks and a rooster named Roy to chat to (great listeners the lot of them. Terrible advice givers).

For now, I sit, drink coffee, and hope the mechanic won't have to endure the wrath of a woman scorned. At least a lesson was learned; If it's too good to be true, then it isn't true, its a big fat ball of stress disguised as truth .... Duh. Silly Amy.

Slán.

Life Realignment; Digging Yourself Out Of The Rut.

Its easy to get into a rut. One minute you are living your life, thinking that things literally could not get better, and with one fine swoop and a few drastic decisions, you find yourself relating to Meryl Streep. As strange as that sounds, its very true and will be explained. I have been finding it hard to write about my life and its twists and turns these last few weeks as I simply kept saying 'I have nothing interesting to write about'. Truthfully, I had interesting stuff to write about, I just didn't want to write it as it involved facing a few home truths.

When making the decision to attempt the life of an Irish emigrant, you think of things like food, and fitting in abroad, and missing home. Then you find that it all doesn't go exactly to plan and home isn't where the heart is, its where family is, and you suddenly find yourself looking at 'Failte Abhaile'. Coming home to a country is one thing. Coming home to your old life is another. I know I have previously written about getting back to western life after coming home and facing the rat race and cheese sandwiches, and I really did think that would be the hardest part about coming home. I was wrong. I never really talked, or thought, about how you get your actual life back. You know, that one where you went out with your mates every weekend and went for lunch on weekdays and spent days off in the city. You think when you leave that if you ever decide to come back it will all just be there waiting for you. Coming home to Ireland in it's current situation, the truth is very different.

I was watching 'Its Complicated' earlier tonight, having a few glasses of wine and relaxing on the couch, when I came to a shocking realisation. One of her friends, during a dinner scene, told Streep's character 'If you want your situation fixed (of a sexual nature, or more lack thereof) you need to date someone. Anyone'. Now, although slightly different, I realised I had become Meryl Streep. I was, am, in a rut. I came home after 8 months away to find that my sister had her own life in Dublin's fine capital, my parents were working and living their lives which for 8 months had not included me, and of some my friends had either moved on to jobs or further education in Dublin City, while the majority had simply emigrated in my time jaunting around South East Asia. I now live in an extremely rural town where I know nobody after three years in University and one year abroad, and I spend my days working and my nights sitting on my couch.

Depressing right? Yes. Fixable? Yes. I realised, like Meryl Streep in the cheesy rom com, if I wanted my situation to change, I had to change it myself. Nobody is going to arrive on my doorstep from the US or Oz, or come from Dublin and forget their new friends and life up there, and I couldn't ever expect them to. I need to find a new life. That's the realisation when you come home from a long term absence to your old haunt; you can't get your life back, so you have two choices

1. Sit and wallow in a pool of rosé wine and 'The Late Late Show' feeling pathetically sorry for your 22 year old single self like something out of 'Bridget Jones's Diary'.
or
2. You can get up, wear something else other than your pjs on your day off, actually open the make up bag and do something with your 22 year old single sorry self and throw 'Bridget Jones's Diary' out the window (metaphorically of course. Its not really that bad a movie)

So, I have enrolled myself in a few classes. I have done my research and realised that where I am living may have an opportunity or two for life realignment. I have enrolled myself in a Zumba dance class to get the endorphins going with a bit of cha cha cha and jumping up and down like something possessed, and I have found a yoga class near work to wind down in the evenings. I am also signing up for a fun make-up class next week along with possibly a bit of volunteer work in the locality with some teenagers.

It can be easy to get in a rut. A rut is comfortable. A rut doesn't care if you wear make up, or gain 6 pounds in a week, or check your facebook every 3 minutes out of sheer 'dunno what else to do'. But its lonely. There, I said it. That's what I have been avoiding admitting and writing about. Coming home from an exciting Thai life to live with your parents is against your life expectations and its bloody boring. But, like I have always said, this blog is the truth about life. Its admitting the hard bits because to leave them out isn't reality. So I am donning my tough attitude that so many people know me for and saying to myself

'Ye, you have a problem. So what? Get over yourself and fix it. Then, no more problem.'

Hmmmm. Well, we will see how good that attitude works after 20 counts of 'Tree Pose'.

Slán.

Much Ado About Doolin

'Lets go away for a few days'

How could I say no? Two days home from Kerry my sister arrives into the house on the beginning of her week's holidays from work and suggests the two of us heading off for a few sisterly days down the country. Having never been on holidays alone with my only sibling, I was sceptical, but gone are the days when we couldn't spend two hours together without shouting abuse at each other, and it turns out it was a fantastic two days.

We had been so many times to the popular west coastal town of Galway, and thought a change was in order, so we chose the picturesque little village of Doolin in county Clare. Its a favourite of our parents, and a popular backpacking site for those who wish to see the old Ireland full of misty mountains, old cottages and brick walls that lead to nowhere. We drove down on Thursday morning, and I am not sure what I expected, but what I got was quite surprising. For those of you who haven't been to Doolin, it is tiny, and I mean tiny. Its one street of about 5 pubs, a few cafes and numerous B&Bs and hostels. No shop. No pharmacy. No ATM. No garage. We initially thought we were insane, but it turns out the pubs serve the most gorgeous food and have a great atmospheres at night when all the tourists arrive in to eat stew and listen to what we Irish call diddly idle music (traditional 3 or 4 piece group playing Irish music).

We spent out first day in Lahinch, which saw us braving the Clare mountains in a dense fog. The solution we ingeniously came up with was to follow the large green 'Paddy Wagon' tourist bus which we were convinced for no reason was on the same route as us. We found ourselves on the dangerously windy cliff's of Moher with no idea where we were going and no phone signal to even make a call, let alone get GPS coordinates. Much panic and sub sequential giddyness later we found ourselves in Lahinch, a beautiful seaside town which is known for its incredible surfing beach. Although the weather wasn't exactly in agreement with this claim to fame, and we spent our time sitting in a cafe with a hot cup of tea watching surfers being blown off their boards and laughing cruelly at their attempt to overcome Irish weather.

After a night of tapping to music and drinking far too many glasses of wine, we found ourselves toddling home on a pitch black deserted country road back to our hostel talking to cows we were convinced were humans and being scared by fellow toddlers that we were convinced were cows. Tip; if staying in a hostel anywhere in Ireland that is not in a city, make sure its in some sort of lit village. The 'down the pitch black lane Irish country feel' hostels can threaten your sanity as well as your life.

The following day we headed off to Doolin Cave where we descended 200 or so steps and walked 3kms into the ground to see the biggest stalactite in Europe (for those like me who only see white rocks, stalactites are the ones that hang from the roof .... I think). I have to say, it was pretty impressive, and the guide, although a little overanimated and rehearsed, was very informative and kept the tour interesting despite the simplicity of the cave. We headed on from here with a map from the cave's shopkeeper in search of a house. Now, this is no ordinary house. Oh no. This is Father Ted's house. For those of your who don't know who Father Ted is, shame on you. SHAME. Father Ted was a fantastic comedy tv show which told the antics of two priests on an island off the coast of Ireland. It made clergymen in Ireland look shameful, and made everyone else double over with laughter. After a good 2 hours of driving and consulting a local shop worker, we found the house 4 miles down the smallest road, and suitably stood like idiots in front of it taking pictures while the kids who lived there played hurling in the garden with the dogs.

We went from there on to have lunch at a local lake which is a hidden gem in these parts. There were only a handful of people around, and the view was nothing short of a postcard. We sat ourselves down on some picnic benches and ate our Spar roles and regretted not being elderly-like and bringing a flask of tea.

We finished off our great two days with a shared pizza and a few drinks in one of the locals with a good bout of sisterly gossiping before heading off home the next morning to return to reality. Again, I was shown that a good break away doesn't have to mean planes, trains and automobiles. 2 and a half hours of a journey away is a wealth of beauty and holiday atmosphere, even if it does involve fog, roads to nowhere and Father Ted.

Slán.

A Break Away, In More Ways Than One.

I have been finding it hard to write. I have toyed with the idea of abandoning this blog and leaving it to rest in the waste drawers of the world wide web, as I simply don't know what to do with it. It has turned due to its great success into a travelling blog from my time in Thailand and surrounding countries, and now that I am back in my home country I simply don't know what to write about. I feel like my life has run out of interesting tales. I have been home for three months now, and I have been one of the lucky ones to find permanent work in a stable retail company, but I can't help but feel my feet itching. The monotonous rat race of the western world is all too clear to me now, and coming back to it hasn't been easy. But, if I want to go back to University to do my extra year to become qualified to teach in Ireland and other first world countries, I have to save, and saving means Irish wages. Not really much more of an option. I have however taken a few days of a break to ease the travel itch, and have actually found that you don't have to head to the other side of the world to have a good holiday. I was so blown away with my adventures in SE Asia that I had forgotten what beauty and wonder there are right on my doorstep.

So I took myself three hours down the road to Killarney in County Kerry, where I met up with a friend who is working down there as a graduate geologist. My first port of call was her workplace; Crag Cave just outside Castleisland. I have been to many caves over my time travelling Ireland and England with my parents as a child, but I have to say, this one is simply stunning. Of course, being an English graduate, my knowledge of rocks and such is bordering on Montessori level (there was a lot of 'oooo look at the pretty rock'), but the guides there are so informative and interesting, and the cave is presented so beautifully that I was amazed by it all. The entire set up is quite interesting too, as it serves as an entire day out for the family. They have a good sized playground, an indoor play area, and a really nice area to get food and buy a few nice souvenirs. My favourite part though was their bird show. As I was a VIP .... ye ok not exactly VIP but you know .... I got a one to one encounter with the birds. Unbelievable beautiful creatures. My favourite was a little sandy coloured barn owl who was brilliantly intelligent, but his eagle owl was stunning. Her wingspan was longer than my height, and her eyes were so piercing I could nearly feel her judging my soul. Slightly creepy now I think back on her, but an amazing bird.

From here we went into Killarney and after food found ourselves in a tiny bar named 98. This place was about 4 people wide and about the depth of an average house, but the atmosphere was fantastic. The singer was really versatile and we soon found ourselves singing away with the entire pub to all the typical Irish pub songs. The simple pleasure of knowing every song that comes along and being able to order a Miller!

The next day we spent a bit of time around the town, but soon headed up the mountains in the car. I was taken by my lovely hostess to a place named 'Lady's View'. On the way up I was having serious dejavu, but thought 'one mountain looks like another, right'. Wrong. I must have been 8 or 9 when my parents brought me up that mountain, and the minute I arrived at the viewpoint, I knew exactly where I was. It is impossible to forget the sight up there. All those years I always told people of the most beautiful view on the planet, but I could never remember where it was. I began to believe that I had imagined the whole thing. But no, there it was in blissful high definition, and it was nearly better than I remembered.

After a long drive through the teeny tiny mountain roads we found ourselves in the black valley. This place was the last place in the country to receive electricity, and its not hard to see why that is. It is the most remote and god forsaken place in Ireland. Hidden deep between the mountain range, surrounded by rough rocky land, roads that haven't been altered since they were put in place decades ago, and dozens of sheep, goats and mountain streams, lies the houses of the most insane people on the planet. Its about 30 minutes to any civilisation, with no street lights and bad roads. All I could think of was 'I would not like to get sick here'. You would be dead by the time anyone reached you, that's providing someone around actually notices that they haven't seen you. Considering neighbours are nearly a 10 minute car drive between each other, I highly doubt that possibility. Its peaceful, its primitive, its nearly untouched by humans, and its breathtakingly beautiful, but its also great to go back to reality.

After an amazing mexican dinner in the Ross Hotel, followed by cocktails, beers, and a lot more singing in pubs, we tottered back to our hostel room feeling very light and happy. The following day we headed off to Killorglin where the 400th annual Puck Fair was being held. This basically involved an entire small Irish town shutting down to celebrate a goat. Yes, like a baahing bleating goat. A male one, which they crown (with an actual goat crown) and place him up three stories on a scaffolding for three days where people can see him sit and chew. It is all connected to a story where the town was about to be invaded and a goat warned the town of the incoming invaders and saved the people. Now its more about the stalls and pet show and less about the goat. But overall, its a great place to be. The atmosphere is great, especially in the sunshine, and the streets are filled with the sound of children. Irish trad music leaks out from the numerous pubs, and mixes with the sounds of pounding feet as the hundreds of people in the packed bars stamp their feet to the music. The place looks great with all its flowers and everyone is in a fantastic mood.

From here we took a long drive up through the Conor Pass which has the most amazing coastal road looking out onto the Inis islands. There was a lot of taking pictures out of moving cars and squeezing past brand new rental cars driven by French people who were questioning their own sanity for driving up there. From there it was back to reality as I had to drive home to be in work the next day.

Coming home though, I had three hours alone to think, and it occured to me how we always seem to think that something different is better than what we have already. When we think holiday, we think in Celtic Tiger mode , which means sun, sand, sea. But why does this have to be 4000 kms away? We have that here ..... ok so the sun is rare, but we have a lot to offer. Ireland is genuinely the most beautiful country I have ever seen. Its breathtakingly stunning in so many ways.

I realised that this is what my blog is about. Its not just about Thailand, or Cambodia, or Vietnam. Its like it says on the tin; 'Wilde Child of the Celtic Tiger'. I am the generation who is crawling into adulthood post booming economy. I am the one finding my way, and realising that the life I was promised of money and nice holidays and a good career is all gone. Its now taxes on taxes, trebled cost of education, reform of social ideas, a country that is in a worse state than it has ever been in, and its my job to adjust to that. I was born in the Celtic Tiger (Irelands most successful economic time), and now its gone. We need to adjust, and whether that adjusting involved going to Thailand for 8 months in search of a better life, or holidays for three days three hours down the road to get away from a rat race, its adjusting and it has to be done. This blog will continue, and it will continue to tell the story of one girl surrounded by change. Everyday this country is changing, is fighting, and this blog is my story of it.

Slán.

Tips and Tricks Part Three; Classroom Survival

Firstly, I apologise for the lateness of this blog. I did promise it the other day, but I have found myself a nice little job (finally) and have been working like a little Irish trojan. I have finally gotten around to writing a mini survival guide for your classes if you are heading off to teach in Thailand in the future. Lets get started.

Firstly, lets get a sense of the classroom situation. If you are working, like I was, in a normal government funded school, you will be looking at a pretty basic classroom. The room will be choc-a-bloc with desks to the point that there is nowhere to move them to if you want to do any activities, and you will probably not have air conditioning. Don't worry, its not as bad as it sounds. Yes there will be days where you will feel like you are cooking from the outside in, but welcome to Thailand. Usually when it got particularly bad I would just not move about as much, give them a worksheet, and hand one of them 5 baht and say 'go get Teacher Amy water'. They always like to be helpful. You will probably have about 40 to 55 children in a class, and if its a pretty big school you could be teaching a large number of children in a week. I was teaching about 900 students a week as I taught 22 different classes. I only had each class once a week, but most people would teach classes numerous times a week. I know 900 students seem like a colossal amount but it was kind of handy as I only had to do two main lesson plans for the two years I taught, and I adjusted them accordingly depending on the proficiency of the class. With regards to resources, you will have access to printers and paper, and you could probably put in for art supplies or special resources for classes if your school has a bit of money. Mostly, you make do with worksheets to support stuff you put on the board or get them to simply say. You may or may not have a curriculum. I had absolutely no curriculum at all, and it was difficult and involved a lot of googling for worksheets and classroom ideas. Hopefully you will have a curriculum.

For discipline tips, I have only one main one. Don't ever shout. Shouting is alien to them. Thai people, as I have said in other blogs before, don't deal at all with confrontation and shouting at your students will not have any productive effect. Silence is your best friend. Whenever my kids acted up, especially the younger ones (12/13), I would stand at the top of the class, put the top on the board marker and stand with my arms crossed staring them down. When they finally nudged each other quiet, I would ask 'finished?' with a 'I am not taking any rubbish' look. If you stare them out of it they get so freaked they just stay quiet. No shouting needed. I also did punish them, but it was hard as they didn't understand the words 'punishment', 'detention', or 'you are in trouble'. I, again, stared them down, then I made them stand up in front of the whole class and I would fire questions at them with the 'I am not taking any rubbish' look. They soon learned the consequences of annoying me, and I found my classes were very manageable. Honestly, I found the older ones to be pretty easy. They more had the 'I couldn't be bothered' attitude, but with a bit of persistence and a few fun classes that attitude soon disappeared. 

The trick with all the classes, whatever age you teach, is to make them fun. You have to understand that many of the kids going to highschools in Thailand don't have to be there. Lots of the children come from very poor backgrounds and they could be of use at home or working, but instead they chose to come to your class. To make it worth their while you should make the classes as fun as possible. I used to use games such as chinese whispers (but just call it whispers. The 'Chinese' bit is too hard to explain), hangman (but don't actually hang him. I used to draw him in a box), bingo, x/o, and categories. To explain categories, its simply splitting your board in two, and write the alphabet in vertical lines down the two boards. Then come up with a theme, maybe 'food' or 'countries' and in two teams they had to think of as many items in that theme beginning with all the letters of the alphabet in 3 minutes. They love competition and getting them to all crowd around the board helping each other out and spelling all the words out was great. Also whenever I taught a new song I would stick the lyrics around the room, and in pairs they would have to put the lyrics in order. One would run, read, and come back and whisper it to their partner, and the other would write it down. I would then go on to add to the lyrics on the board and teach the song. They like Lady Gaga, One Direction, and Justin Bieber. Not great English, I know, but the trick is to get them to understand and speak, and making it relevant and interesting is half the battle.

Finally, and I know they say don't use any Thai in your class in the TEFL training, but I say otherwise. I am not saying have massive conversations, that's near impossible when it comes to westerners and Thai, but I learned a few phrases and they helped me a huge amount. I was asking the students 'do you understand' in English, and they were all saying 'Yes', and then I would realise half way through that they didnt understand a single thing. I learned how to ask 'do you understand' in Thai and I got honest answers, and it made things a lot easier. To ask it, its easy. 'Cow jai mai?' That's it. And yes is 'Chai', and no is 'Mai'. The kids always got a kick out of my little attempt at Thai. I also learned to word for homework, which is 'ganban', which solved the whole problem of the students not understanding that I wanted something done for homework, and quiet is 'neeam' with the emphasis on the neee bit. Oh, also, to shush kids, don't actually shush. They dont see saying 'shhhhh' as be quiet. They will simply just copy you and laugh. You have to tut tut tut at them, like you do when someone does something disgraceful in the west. Not actually saying the word 'tut', but the sound of a tut ....You get what I mean. 

So, there is your classroom survival kit. I hope some of it comes in handy, and I hope these three blogs have made things a little clearer about working and living in Thailand. If you have any more questions, or want me to do any more blogs on specific things, please pop me an email (see info over there :-) ------> )

Slán.